


come here, boy

by wonthetrade



Series: that girl is a goddamn problem [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Rule 63, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: Jack has a reward for Connor's hatty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unless you've been living under a rock, you know McDavid broke his goal-less streak against the Stars on 11/19. 
> 
> Em immediately asked Jo how Jack rewards Connor for the hatty. 
> 
> This is how.

He does media, of course. Then there’s the pictures with the three pucks, his shower, a change of clothes...it takes forever for him to get his hands on his phone again.

Dylan’s left him a fucking voicemail of all things, and she sounds fucking ridiculous in it, too. He’s got a couple of texts from Brinksy, Hallsy even, but he skips through all of that to the voicemail from Jack.

“Heya stud,” she starts and holy shit that cannot be Jack. It doesn’t sound like her, hot and bothered and sexy as hell. “You’re not going to want to check those snaps on the bus. But you are going to want to Skype me when you do. Talk to you later.”

He seriously considers giving Nuge or Leon his phone for the duration of the bus ride, but the place is rowdy, excited and still bouncing from their win, from Connor’s hat trick. He gets pats on the back and noogies as he makes his way down the aisle, dropping in behind Nuge and Ebs.

He tries to focus on the congratulations, on the happiness of the team, but his phone feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, his curiosity so, so close to the surface.

It feels like the longest bus ride of his life.

The boys are still rowdy as they get into the lobby, jostling each other and calling out bar plans and celebrations.

“You’re coming, right?” Leon asks, bumping into him. “Gotta celebrate your hatty!”

“Nah,” Connor says softly, his smile still on his face, permanent. “Can’t drink here anyway. I’m just going to call Jack, I think.”

Leon’s eyebrows do something embarrassingly lewd. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’m not legal!” Connor exclaims again, even as he laughs and heads for the elevators. No one stops him, and he’s a beyond grateful for the quiet as he makes his way back to his room.

He shucks his jacket first, throwing it over the back of his chair. He’s picking at the buttons of his shirt as he opens his phone, thumbs through until he can tap on the Snapchat button. He ignores everything that isn’t labeled ‘Jack’ and taps the little red square.

The first picture is innocent enough. Connor has enough time to register she’s wearing a Sabres sweatshirt, so obviously hers by the 15 printed on the chest, but an Oilers hat he recognizes as one of his own. He laughs a little; she must have stolen it in Toronto, or maybe when she was in Edmonton just a few weeks ago. The caption is simple: _Congrats on the hatty Captain._

The next picture is close to the same, but this time, there’s a sparkle in Jack’s eye Connor recognizes, and his hand pauses just about to yank the tails of his shirt from his waistband. She looks the same, except the sweatshirt’s been replaced by an Eichel shirsey. He can see the curve of her waist, her breasts. This time, there’s no caption.

The third doesn’t have her face. It has the curve of miles and miles of naked skin, the dark blue of her bra and boyshorts standing out starkly against the pale white of her skin. Connor feels his breath speed up, feels his fingers twitch. He swallows and reads: _Skype me._

His hands are shaking as he puts down the phone and tugs off his shirt, reaching for his iPad.

“Hey you,” Jack greets. Then, “You’re wearing too much clothing for this to work.”

He doesn’t really hear it though. He’s too focused on the sight of her, the way her hair spills out under the cap and across her pillow. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She’s laughing a little this time. “You with me?”

“You’re naked.”

She tilts the camera a little, shows him the boyshorts. “You’re not.”

“Should I be?” But he’s already reaching for his belt, shucking it and his pants as soon as they’re loose enough. The t-shirt comes over his head next and he hears her laugh, low and throaty. When he looks up, she’s watching with avid blue eyes, a hand cupped around her bare breast. “Fuck, Jack.”

“We’re not even there yet.”

Well, he’s not. She’s propped up her iPad where he can get the best view, can see the way she’s slipped a hand into her panties. The thumb on her breast is moving in slow, careful circles, teasing herself the way she’s gotten snippy with him about in the past. She seems perfectly content to watch him though, and he can just barely make out the way her chest is flushing in the bedside lamp she’s turned on.

“The first goal wasn’t even mine,” he says, even as he leans the iPad against a lamp. He isn’t in the mood to tease, still hyped up on the hatty, on Jack, and his boxers come off with his pants. He leaves them in a pile where they fall.

Her lips curve up. “Does it look like I care? Come on, get on the bed. Think about how I'd... _reward_ you if I were there.”

“Think? I'm pretty sure you should just tell me.” But his voice is a little hoarse as he settles back against the pillows and takes himself in hand.  Yeah, she's got him worked up but that's Jack, really.

Her hum has a thread of arousal in it, potent and emphasized by the way her thumb moves a little more deliberately on her breast. “I mean, it’s your hatty. Shouldn’t you call the shots?” She shifts then, dropping the hand from her breast to shift the iPad. It gives him a better view of the hand in her panties, the way her fingers are moving against the fabric and he shudders.

“You don’t usually let me,” he says without thinking, eyes fixed on her hand. He wants to ask her to lose the panties, wants to see the way her hand moves through the slickness of her, the way she likes to touch herself like this. It’s still so new and he wants to know everything, every little facet of her she’s hidden from him before now.

“Fair point,” she says on a laugh, eyes still hot on him. On his hand, he realizes after a beat. The hand that he’s been absently stroking up and down his cock. “So take advantage, McDavid. You never know when you’ll get the chance again.”

And Connor, well. Connor knows all about taking opportunities presented to him. So he lets his eyes close, lets himself picture her like she’s here, pressed against him. “I’d touch you,” he says, eyes still closed, calling up the memory of that hotel room in Toronto. “I always want to touch you. You’re so strong, and I can feel it every time you shift.”

He hears a hitching breath but doesn’t open his eyes, can’t really.

“I’d stroke my hands over every inch of you, maybe get my mouth on you.” His eyes open on reflex, fix on hers. “You always arch against me when I suck on your neck, like you want more, like you want me to just leave my mouth there, spread out on top of you and leaving marks behind.”

She laughs, but it’s breathy, thin. “Possessive there, McDavid.”

“Connor,” he breathes, because it’s his show and they both know what it does to him, hearing his name on her lips. “Like you’re any better. And take your underwear off.”

She’d left bruises the last time she was in Edmonton, on his hips, a bite mark on his shoulder.

_“Canada can’t have you.”_

Connor shivers, hips thrusting into his hand, a couple of quick, sharp thrusts. She gasps, and he watches her fingers move faster over her clit. “Feels good?”

She whines. “Come on.”

“I’d get my fingers on you, just like that, pressing against your clit until you’re writhing. Until I have to press you down with all my weight so you stop moving.”

“I’m stronger than you.”

“I know.” He knows his voice sounds like such a mess as he moves his hand a little bit faster, watches the flush creep down her body, watches her spread her thighs a little wider. It’s a perfect view of her hand, the way her muscles tense and hips arch under her own touch. “Do you have a vibrator?”

Jack stops all movement, eyes fluttering as her breath rushes out of her, loud in her room. “Fuck, Connor, you can’t just-”

But he’s feeling bold, hand around his cock, taking in the obvious arousal all over her body. “Do you?”

Her laugh is reedy and thin as she turns, keeps one hand between her thighs as she digs for the toy. “Everyone thinks you’re so innocent and here you are asking me about sex toys.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, too busy watching her shift back again, wiggling her shoulders until she’s comfortable. “I can only touch you for so long without wanting to fuck you.”

Her fingers press firmly into her clit, like she needs a moment to collect herself, to let the pleasure wash over her. Connor watches hungrily. He wants her here, misses her like a phantom limb, and only in part because he does want something other than his own hand.

“ _So_ not innocent,” she repeats and the breathless heat in her voice sends pleasure skittering down his spine. He groans and grips his cock a little tighter, with a little more intent.

“Come on,” he says. “Fuck yourself. I would, if I was there.”

“Think I’m wet enough?”

He has to swallow twice, eyes fixed on the way she dips two fingers inside herself. They come out wet, he can see it in the way the light reflects off her skin. “I want to taste you.”

She makes a desperate noise, fumbling the vibrator a little as she turns it on and slides it over her clit, and teases it around her entrance. Her eyes are dark when she opens them, fixes them on where his hand has sped up on his cock, unable to hold back.  “I want you to fuck me.”

“Enough to beg for it?”

She snorts, a little more simply Jack and it makes Connor smile. “When was the last time I begged for it?”

“Fuck yourself,” is his response, and she slides the vibrator oh so slowly inside. He watches it disappear, thinks of how she feels around his cock, how hot and wet she always is. For him. Because of him, because she loves him the way he loves her. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Jack moans and tips her head back, neck arching as she changes the angle of her thrusts. He can’t look away from where the vibrator disappears into her, can’t keep his hand still on his cock. He’s straining for it, so close.

“Turn it on, Jack,” he manages, has to tilt his own head back as she does and her entire body shakes. He can tell she’s close, wishes she were right here so he could feel her, hot and tight and perfect right against him, riding his cock in short sharp thrusts, like she gets when she can’t take it anymore, when she just wants to come…

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”

But she doesn’t mean it. He can tell by the way her thighs strain. He’s so close too, the orgasm a knot at the bottom of his spine, spiralling higher and higher in his stomach because she’s so gorgeous like this, fucking herself just as she likes, letting him watch her do it, doing what he’s asking her to do to get her off. He wants to see her come, wants to see the way she quakes with it.

A moment later she does, a little mewl coming out of her mouth as her body freezes up for a split second before moving in earnest, fucking herself through the orgasm the way he knows he would, just to prolong it a little more, make her feel so, so good.

“Oh my god, Connor.”

It’s his name that does it - he thinks it will always be his name that does it, the rarity with which she uses it - and he comes, splatters his stomach and chest a little as he closes his eyes, lets her see everything.

“Holy fuck,” she says when he finally opens his eyes and meets hers. She’s tossed the vibrator aside and thrown an arm across her stomach and Connor wants to be there like he wants air.

“I miss you.”

Her face goes soft around the edges, not from her orgasm but because she’s willing to let him see this part of her, vulnerable and without some of the prickly edges. “Miss you too. S’not the same when you’re not here.”

It cracks his heart open and he smiles at her, a little dumb. “I love you.”

She hums, reaches out to stroke the side of the screen. He laughs, because she looks so tired and a little worn out from her orgasm. It’s the only way she’d be this soft, he knows.

“It’s late,” he murmurs to her, because it is, going on midnight and she’s still recovering. “Did you do PT today?”

“I do PT everyday. Gotta get back on the ice.” Her jaw all but cracks on the yawn she releases next.

“Come here,” he blurts out.

“Huh? I was just there. I mean, I was just in Edmonton - fuck.”

“I’m in Buffalo in seventeen days,” he answers softly. “We play you.”

“You play my team.” But she huffs and waves a hand and he takes it to mean they’re moving on.

“No,” he says instead. “Over Christmas. We have like, five days or something between games. And trainers here for your PT.”

“You want me to fly to Edmonton for Christmas.”

Connor sucks in a breath because he does. That’s the crux of it. He wants to spend five days with her, solid days where maybe the only thing he has to worry about is practice. “I do. I want to spend Christmas with you.”

_I want to make this work._

_I’m trying_.

She’s watching him with so much more awareness than a few minutes prior. It’s nothing wary, just thoughtful. He holds his breath all the same. “I could,” she eventually replies with a smile. “If my five days match up with yours.”

He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Jack rolls her eyes at him but it’s fond. “I want to. But-” and now she yawns. “It _is_ late, and I’ve had a very satisfying round of Skype sex with my boyfriend. Who scored a hat trick, by the way.”

“Did he?” Connor replies. He’s committing all of this to memory, the softness of her eyes and the slow, sleepy drawl of her voice. “Sounds like a pretty good boyfriend.”

“He’s not bad,” Jack says, refusing to rise to the bait. Still, she bites her lip and smiles. “So, I guess I’ll see you around Christmas.”

Connor can’t help himself - he reaches out and traces the curve of her face on his screen. “Yeah. See you at Christmas.”

He can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? You should all come [scream with us on Tumblr.](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.com)


End file.
